


Abandonment

by phipiohsum475



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Cancer, Could be Read as a Little Bit of Jolto, Gen, John in Afghanistan, Phone Call
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-29
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-02-27 09:42:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2688101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phipiohsum475/pseuds/phipiohsum475
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's scheduled chat with Harry reveals a tragic event.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dropping the Bomb

**Author's Note:**

> This is a therapeutic writing session, based on events occurring in my own life lately. I'll update the chapters as events unfold, so I can guarantee no updating schedule. 
> 
> Not betaed nor britpicked. Feel free to (kindly!) point out my errors!

“Wait, what?” John demanded; the crackling voice of Harry on the line making him hope, praying, that he’d misheard her. The connection between home and the middle of Afghanistan was always full of static and had led to more than one miscommunication between soldiers and their loved ones.

“Dad left Mum.”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me? She’s got terminal cancer and he fucking leaves?”

“Yeah, we’re all pretty pissed.” Harry’s voiced cracked; John recognized this time that the catch in her voice wasn’t the static, but the break in her voice as she held back the tears. She’d been closer to their Mum than he had.

“Jesus bloody fucking Christ,” John scratched the back of his head, near speechless at this turn of events. It seemed unreal, completely unbelievable, like something out of some daytime drama movie for those masochists looking for a good cry.

Mum had been diagnosed eighteen months ago; the doctors had given her just six months. She’d made it this long, past her 57th birthday they didn’t expect she’d even seen, then to her and Dad’s milestone 35th anniversary and now, for some unfathomable, God-forsaken reason, his father decided now would be the time to announce his intent to divorce her.

“What the fuck is he thinking?” John asked, his staggering daze beginning to morph into anger.

“Supposedly, he met someone at his conference a month ago; now he’s moving to States with her.”

“What sort of sense does that fucking make?” And the anger turns to back to confusion. “Have you met Dad? He doesn’t have the personality to land a one night stand; it’s a bloody miracle Mum stayed around long enough to fall in love with him. He’s a half deaf, social pariah.”

“Right? Mum thinks he’s making that part up. Dad rambled some bollocks about wanting to pursue his acting career in LA.”

John barked a pained laughed, “His acting career? Six bloody plays and an extra on one episode of one programme in forty years? He’s delusional! God bless Mum for supporting him, but how can’t he know that no one is going to make it big at 62?”

“Yeah, well, you know Dad and his dreams. ‘The metaphorical one that got away.’ And add that up with all the shit at work. I mean, I know it’s been hard for him; his new boss is a bloody arsehole. You know he’s been making him do all the janitorial work, outside of his actual job? Said they can’t see why they’d pay someone else when they’ve got him. Then, he’s been dragging Mum back and forth to the doctor every week, since they’re both too damn proud to ask for help. Fuck, he was so devastated when she was diagnosed, how the hell did he just check out like this, Johnny?”

“I have no idea.”

“And two days before her birthday?!”

John groaned; he genuinely could not fathom what his father must be thinking, but he was furious. He’d seen the slow deaths of terminal patients before; in his residency before being shipped out to Afghanistan, and only once had he seen abandonment on this scale. Even then, he despised the man who deserted his wife. Why make vows if you aren’t going to abide by them?

“Jesus, Harry, what can I do? I mean, if I could be by her side, I would, but I’ve got at least three more months before I can get leave. I’m not making much; but would a few bucks help? Should I call her? Does she even want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know. I’m on my way home; but I’ve got to be back to work the day after next. Cousin Danny’s been helping out some; but the boy is still in uni; he can’t carry the load of her full time care along with classes. I don’t know.”

Harry continued, distraught, “I just, if I were closer to home, if I could have helped more, God, this is my fault, isn’t it?”

“No, Harry, fuck no! He’s a goddamned grown man, he made fucking wedding vows, and he’s the arsehole here. Don’t you dare for a minute, not a bloody second, think you’ve done anything wrong!”

John looked out the clock; his scheduled time was coming to a close.

“I’ve got to go, Harry, I’m so fucking sorry. I get to call Mum on her birthday; let me know then what else I can do.”

Harry sighed and her voice choked up again, “God Johnny, I know. I wish you were closer. But you do good. Stay safe.”

“Take care of her.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation cut out, and John clenched his fists. He took a deep breath, then headed outside the com tent.

Adrenaline coursed through him in fury; he needed a release. He needed to find a fight.

 

 

 


	2. How It Falls Apart

John dialed his Mum two days later, dreading the call. What was he supposed to say? _Happy Birthday? Having a lovely day are we?_

Mum answered, “Johnny!” without sadness in her voice; her defence mechanism to grief. She’d always been this way.

John remembered her first diagnosis.

_They all sat in the family room. Dad, on the sofa, next to Mum, Harry and her girlfriend Jennifer sitting in the armchair nearby. Gaga and Ompa held hands, leaning against the staircase, and John tightened his grip around his most recent girlfriend._

_Mum joked through her announcement. “Well it seems all pretty horrible. First mammogram, and it’s already spread to the lymph nodes; I don’t half-arse anything, do I?” John was used to his mum’s use of humor to relieve grief and tension, but his girlfriend recalled later the devastated look on his father’s face as she joked about this deadly disease. John hadn’t noticed at all; he was too focused on Mum._

_“Stage 3 cancer; I’m scheduled for a double mastectomy in November, then I’ll be in chemotherapy for six months, twice a week, followed by radiation. It’s going to be quite the busy year; don’t expect a fancy Christmas goose!” Mum laughed, and the room chuckled painfully with her._

It didn’t surprise him then, that in the wake of this disastrous news, this vile behavior of his father, that his Mum kept the façade of composure and comedy.

“So, Happy Birthday to me, yeah?” she commented sardonically.

“Happy Birthday,” John said with a touch of sadness. He let her lead the conversation by starting out neutrally, “Harry and Clara treating you well?”

“Oh lovely, they are so sweet. Harry’s been a bit on the sauce again, but honestly, I can’t blame her. If it didn’t mix with the barrage of pills I’m taking, I’d be making one Bahama Mama after another. That’d be a proper party, now wouldn’t it?”

He forced a light laugh, “What I wouldn’t do for nice scotch right now.”

They chuckled softly, the sound dying slightly between them as the drop in the conversation only highlighted the hollow pain echoing between them.

“So, Mum, I really hate to cut to it but they’ve given me a time limit here. What the hell happened?”

“Well, the night before his decision, he left the house; I don’t keep track of him that much. The morphine messes with my mind you know, and he’s fine generally, and I didn’t think another thing about it. But two and a half hours later, he’s not home. And Danny, you know he’s living with us, he texts your Dad to figure out where he went.

“Returning movies, Dad says. But really, for two and half hours?”

Mum sighed, “And then the children, they starting farming potatoes, and made 15 cents an hour doing it.”

“Mum, I think I lost you, Dad was gone for two and a half hours?”

“Oh right; sorry about that; don’t know what the devil I was talking about; went right down the rabbit hole there.” John was used to corralling his mother’s conversations; the sheer amount of morphine she’d been prescribed to handle the end-of-life pain was expected to derail her thoughts from time to time.

“So he couldn’t tell me where he’d gone; and I just ignored it. I don’t know what he was doing, but I genuinely couldn’t imagine it being too bad, so I let it be.”

She sighed, and spoke off to the side to Danny before returning to the conversation at hand, “And then, well you know Jerry, the new boss, asked him to split wood for the furnace for four hours on Wednesday, and your father came home so exhausted; he just passed out on the sofa.”

“I can understand that,” John commiserated, leading the conversation forward.

His mum continued to detail the events leading up to the traumatizing announcement. How his father insisted he had been contacted to participate in a last minute performance of Shakespeare; one of the plays he had nearly memorized. How none of the details added up; that he didn’t know the name of the theatre nor the surname of the bloke who was recruiting him. His father pleaded “You’ve got to let me go,” and his mum reminded him that while she didn’t want him going, she was in no position to stop him, fragile and wheelchair bound as she was.

And then the pleading took on a different tone. “You’ve got to let me go,” stopped being about a night at the theatre, and threatened something so much more.

_The truth_ , his mum had demanded, and finally, the words spilled from his father’s mouth.

_I want a divorce._


	3. Doubts and Apprehensions

John sat despondently on the edge of his cot, holding his head in his hands. His mind was a jumble of thoughts, of vengeance, of pain and he couldn’t capture any of them sufficiently. Suddenly, the midday heat wafted into the tent behind the newest entrant. John recognized his superior officer, and stood with salute.

“At ease,” Major Sholto commanded, and John collapsed back into his cot. Sholto looked at him with intuitive stare; the stress plan on John’s face.

“Some troubles, Captain?” Sholto asked, softly; not the major right now.

John felt a small smile force its way forward. Major Sholto had been a mentor, a welcoming light in the dark night for the last eight months. Though he felt kinship with his entire regiment; he trusted Sholto with more than his life.

“My dad, sir. The bloody, vile arsehole left my mum.” Sholto knew more about John’s life than the rest of the regiment. No other words were needed.

The major walked over and clasped John’s shoulder with sturdy hand, slightly pressing his leg against John’s torso. He stayed there while John bit back the tears, and breathed deeply. The warmth of their connection grounded John and he steadied himself.

When John’s breaths calmed and the dissipating tension slackened his body, the major removed his hand, “Good man, Watson. I’ll see if any of the lot here can sacrifice some extra calls this week; keep you up to date with your mum and Harry.”

Gratefulness bloomed in John’s chest, just starting to replace the cold, lead weight inside, “Thank you, Major,” as Sholto began to exit the tent.

With one last look, the major’s ocean blue eyes boring into the captain’s slate blue ones, the unspoken words left John with the most peace he’d felt in days.

-o-

John, slightly more gathered, more calm, dwelt on the end of the conversation with his mum. Like her, he felt fury and disgust, but now mingled in were doubt, worry, and anxiety.

This plan of his father’s, to leave his mother; after thirty five years of marriage, his mother could tell that the abandonment was weirdly spontaneous. As she questioned what he’d do about his job, his belongings, the storage shed they needed to clear out by the end of the month, each of his responses was wobbly, unsure, and made up on the spot. Not a thought had been given to these answers before her inquisition.

Up until the day he’d made the announcement, John’s dad had been kind, loving and doting. He’d cared deeply for her, ensuring her meds were always on time, that she was always comfortable, and even, (information John had not necessarily needed to know), engaged her in intimate relations in a way she’d be safe, comfortable and pleasured.

The only complaints Dad had were work related. The job was killing him; the owners were driving him to quit; but he’d get more benefits if he were fired. He couldn’t get fired; he needed to work to support his mum. Dad had always been a truly ethical worker, working hours of unpaid overtime to ensure his work was completed perfectly. He couldn’t imagine leaving a job unfinished, even if it could prove the necessity of hiring another employee. A man in his sixties doing such ridiculous amounts of labor left him exhausted, only to come home to dote on his ailing wife.

Then his mother had mentioned the small open wound behind his ear. With his father’s history of melanoma, reoccurrence wasn’t out of the question, and, if so, the cancer might have spread; affecting his father’s decision making skills.

Ultimately, several scenarios ran through John’s mind.

 

_His father was sick; either physically or mentally._

Clinical depression could explain outrageous behavior; the feeling of loved ones being better without you. Additionally, any sort of tumor in the brain, or affecting the blood stream might also alter typical behaviors in patients.

 

_His father was a complete and utter arsehole._

This one seemed so out of character as to be painful. John wasn’t sure if he’d prefer his father was a reprehensible, selfish, tosser of the highest degree, or if he’d rather his father have a brain tumor. Either option was horrendously troublesome.

Then, suddenly, the most likely answer filtered through the mist of anger, lies, misdeeds, and disbelief.

 

_His father was experiencing intensive caregiver burden._

John knew research had shown significant support is needed for primary caregivers; especially given the length of his mother’s prolonged illness. While it had been a blessing she’d made it past two birthdays and a milestone anniversary no one ever expected her to see; the toll on his father; primarily caring for her with just the little assistance Danny could provide; it might explain everything.

 

Now John had a predicament he could resolve, a way to help from a distance; how to get his mother in home care.

He was a problem solver. He could do this.


	4. Disbelief

David had skipped the call with his on-again, off-again girlfriend, with whom he was currently off, and offered the time to John to call Harry again.

“Shit, Johnny, it’s fucked up,” Harry started, as soon as he connected.

“Yeah?”

“Okay, so Dad comes back on Sunday, says ‘Sorry, I didn’t realize you’d put it on the internet. Did you know I got _death threats_ on my phone?’ Then takes a fucking nap. Missing four bloody days, he bitches that Mom told people he’d abandoned her, and then takes a goddamned nap. Gets up and goes into work, like fucking nothing happened.

“Then, he has the audacity to bitch when Danny won’t talk to him, tells Mum ‘That boy’s got an attitude.’ Jesus _fuck_ , no shit!”

John huffed an empty laugh, and let Harry continue.

“So then, while Dad’s at work, she logs into her email, only to realize it didn’t auto-load her account, but Brandy’s. And that’s weird, right-“

“Who’s Brandy?” John asked; the name was new to him.

“Oh, she’s some redhead my age; I guess we used to play together in primary school, but I don’t remember her.” Harry paused.

She sighed deeply, and went on, “And then it starts to click for Mum; it’s taken her a little longer since, you know, the morphine and the rabbit holes, that Dad hasn’t put his phone down not once since he’d come back. And he’s constantly texting; and so, when he’s not looking the next morning, Mum throws Dad’s phone in a bush outside her window.”

Laughter burst forth from John; when a situation is desperate enough, even the littlest comedies will relieve tension. The image of his mother, stealing his father’s phone, rolling to the window, and tossing his phone in a bush kept forcing a giggle from his throat.

“Shut up, it’s not funny,” Harry admonished, but even she held back a chuckle in her throat.

“Something must be,” John commented, “Otherwise I’m going to lose my fucking mind.” John took a deep breath to prepare himself for the rest of conversation, “So what happened next?”

“Yeah, Dad called in late to work, frenzied and panicked that he couldn’t find his damned phone. Finally, after an hour, he gave up, and went in to work. Mom had Danny fetch the phone, and fuck it all, Johnny, the affair was real.”

“What?!” John exclaimed. If there was one thing he had felt certain of; it was that his father was lying about the “other woman.”

“Yeah, texts and everything. The bitch is living that flat they keep down south; the one Dad keeps saying no one wants to rent. And Dad, that fucker; bloody, disgusting, goddamned tosser; he’s been fucking her in the bed Mom and Dad use to sleep in when they lived there. I mean, really? Some piece ass of my age? Aren’t I supposed to be the slut of family?”

John sat, dumbfounded. They’d joked, his Mum and him, about his Dad having an affair; the idea was so comical as to be joke between them. He couldn’t believe it was actually happening.

So, with a lack of proper words, he said the only thing that truly spoke to the culmination of his feelings on the matter.

“ _Fuck_.”

-o-

The call later that week to his Mum was distressing. Her veneer had not just cracked, but shattered. The comedic front was blown to bits, and for the first time in many years, he heard her voice quaking with tears, sadness, grief, misery and depression reverberating through the connection, and even though he’d never been particularly close to his mother, his heart ached for her, his own tears forming.

“I’m such an idiot; he’s been out to the bars and clubs with her at night, when he said he was working. I’m so stupid.” she cried, and John jumped to correct her.

“No, Mum, no. Harry, Danny and I’ve all talked, even that bloke I brought home for Christmas one year who met him for all of a week, all thought he had to be lying. None of us believed he could ever find anyone else to tolerate him; let alone sleep with him. You are not an idiot; this is just completely unbelievable.

“And he’s had that damned overtime work ethic for years; he manipulated his behaviors; of course you’d believe he was working overtime – when in his life has he not? This is all on him. Don’t think for a moment that you should have caught this.”

“I know, Johnny, but we’ve been together almost forty years, married for thirty five. I thought we were solid, I thought he still loved me. He was so caring up until the day before this happened. I had no clue. And then the texts, oh god, his friends texting him, asking how the sex was, and his responses; my heart tore in pieces. Why now? Couldn't he have waited?”

And her next words tore John to pieces.

“I guess I just wasn’t dying fast enough.”


	5. Self Respect

Two weeks passed before John was able to secure the video camera. He kept busy; an ambush left three of his men dead, and four in desperate need of his care. Despite his constant work, in his quiet times he fell silent, dwelling on his mother and her current devastation. He sometimes wondered how much of her emotional turmoil, dying and abandoned, differed from his own situation, as he watched good men die around him for a dubious cause.

When he finally was able to call, it was his sister and not his mother who answered. He skipped any formalities or small talk, and delved straight into the question that had became their de facto _hello_ : “So, what’s going on with Mum?”

With a sardonic laugh, Harry was blunt. “She kicked his arse to the kerb.”

“Yeah?” John inquired hopefully.

Harry explained the last few weeks in quick detail, “So you know he came back, right? Well, of course he lost his job, he’d gone missing for days and they were just looking for an excuse to fire the tosser. So then, he stuck around the house like some foul leech, and he’d leave the house at random times. But where’s he going if he’s got no job, yeah? He keeps telling Mum that no, he’s not sleeping with Brandy, but honestly, by now it’s a moot point. Even if he hasn’t slept with her, despite all evidence that he has, the emotional affair is enough.”

Harry took a deep sigh, and continued, “So the last straw was on Friday. Mum had a scan that morning and Danny’d left for his classes. And Dad, he just up and left the house at eight in the morning. No mention of where he’s going, if he’ll be back, nothing. So at about half ten, when it doesn’t look like he’s going to show up, she decided to text him and his girlfriend. Something along the lines of ‘I need Hamish to bring me to my appointment, you can have him when I’m done with him.’”

“Damn. Good for her.”

“Right? Then, the next day, he’s still at the house. He’s in their sitting room, sitting on the chesterfield across from that big chair she’s in half the day, the brown one, you know? Well, he’d been on the phone all damned day, texting and texting and texting. Mum might be half delirious from morphine, but she’s not fucking stupid. She logs onto their joint cell phone account online, and can tell that he’s been texting his girlfriend for hours. From their house, in the same room as the woman he’s vowed to love. Fucking prick.”

John cursed, “Jesus fuck, I mean, it’s like he’s not even the same person. I can’t even reconcile his behavior with everything I’ve ever known about my own goddamned father. Who the fuck is this person?”

“Yeah, well, that was the last straw. Mum told him to get the fuck out, give up the key and that she didn’t care what he did, but he couldn’t stay there with her and Danny.”

Harry looked wistfully off to the side of the camera, and spoke softly and thoughtfully. “I’m actually really fucking proud of her. I mean, we’ve had our problems, don’t get me wrong. It was a cluster fuck when I came out, but she tried in her own ass backwards way, I guess. But this right here-”

She looked back to John, “She’s dying. Only months to go. She could have so easily just figured it wasn’t worth the fight; that she needed his assistance regardless of his disloyalty, and no one could have blamed her. But she didn’t. She’s in pain, she’s drugged to the gills, but she still has enough self respect and courage to stand up for herself. Not to be treated like shit.”

Harry looked away again, and John was surprised to hear the next words spoken with a catch; his sister was on the verge of tears. “You know she said? She did it for us. That if anyone treated us the way Dad was treating her, she’d want us to leave, to kick them out, to stand up for ourselves. Months ‘til death, and she wanted to lead us by example.”

Harry sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Don’t forget it Johnny.”

John felt his eyes water; he’d never been particularly adept at ignoring the cries of loved ones. He blinked the tears back, and said, “Yeah, I don’t think I could forget this till the day I die.”

“Better be later than sooner, little bro.”

They both remained silent for a moment, then John looked up. “Shit. I’ve got to go.” He felt bad, this was the most open he’d been with his sister in ages; they almost connected. And now, now he had to return to the sand and desert and death and guns, leaving his sister adrift in the hurricane that had become their family life.

“Harry, take care, yeah?” He tried to impart an ‘I love you’ the only way he knew how.

“You, too, Johnny, you too.”


	6. And the Beat Drops

Harry logged into her social media account and saw a new request. Curious, she opened it.

< **Harry Hamish** sent you a friend request >

Instantly, her heart began to pound and her breath caught. She felt oddly as though she’d narrowly avoided a car accident. She slammed the top of the laptop down, and went to pour herself a drink.

-o-

A few hours later, nerves calmed, and this time, expecting the surprise, returned to her account. _Harry Hamish_ ; it read again. His stage name, both she and Johnny had gotten pieces of it, his dream, the legacy he hoped he’d be. She wanted to slap him, to scream ‘It’s OVER, you arse, you are chasing a pipe dream,’ to hammer into his brain how horrifying he was behaving. She perused his page, but could see little beyond a new tattoo.

Ultimately, as she knew she would, she accepted the request. Damnable prick or not, he was her father. He’d abandoned his wife, alienated his children, and, as his family were all dead, cut ties to the only support system he had. She suspected, that once Mum died, he’d eventually die drunk and alone. She felt a sense of pity commingled in with her disgust. The myriad of emotions repulsed her.

-o-

She sat alone on the couch, while Clara played cards with their friends. She couldn’t muster the strength or energy to act social; thankfully their friends mostly understood. She played about on her mobile, playing word games, amusing herself with shallow, mild humor. She checked one social account, then the other.

She scrolled down past friends and family, and cursed as her chest hollowed out again.

< **Harry Hamish** is married (1979) >

_Fucking asshole. How dare he?_ She felt tears in her eyes as her heart sped up. She scrolled past, trying to find something else to focus on.

And set sight on a photo of her father, dressed as Macbeth, captioned, “ _Refreshing my lines_!”

She couldn’t tell if he was stupid, oblivious, or just vicious in the midst of his own betrayal, to post bloody Macbeth. She pressed her fingers into her eyes until stars formed. She practiced breathing deeply, in and out, until the urge to scream and cry and fight and hit diminished. She turned off the phone, and made herself another drink.


	7. Gone

_Johnny,_

_I hope you are staying safe out there. I miss your sweet smile._

_I know you’ve been talking to your sister, and to me on the phone when you can, but I thought you’d like some nibbles and a book or two to keep you company. Hopefully, there is enough to share if you’d like._

_Things at home are as difficult as ever. The doctors are having troubles restricting the growth of the cancer, and all the treatments they’ve tried aren’t stopping it. So I’ve moved onto the last treatment available, which is very physically draining. I’m so tired, all the time._

_Your father isn’t helping. I’m sure Harry’s told you that Dad came back. I was hoping he’d seen the error of his ways; that I’d get my Hamie back, but that hasn’t been the case. He drinks, he smokes, he mopes about the house, pining for his girlfriend. She left him, and now he’s sad. He asks me how to win her back and doesn’t seem to care my heart is breaking in the meanwhile. But I’m done._

_We’re going tomorrow to pick up a car, so he drive down to Gio’s, in Rome. Gio owns a theatre, and your father is sure that the audition that can change his career will happen there. I’m making him pack, but not all his stuff will fit; so he’ll have to take the trip twice._

_It’s an awful waste of petrol, but I need him gone._

_Gio can have him._

_I’m sorry, Johnny, that the news from home is so depressing, but you’ve insisted on the details. I promise I won’t hide anything from you. You’ve always been such a darling, my strong, young man._

_Please, do stay safe. I get to die first, that’s how this works._

_Mum_


	8. The Cherry On Top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd, please excuse!

The photo was the first thing John caught coming out of the thick padded envelope. His heart dropped out of his chest, and stumbled down onto his cot. The photo slipped from his hands and he scrambled to open the letter.

_She’s fine._

The first two words on the page. John felt his heart beat through every artery, every vein of his body. He gasped, realizing he’d been holding his breath, and felt the burn in his lungs as they took in the dusty, arid desert heat with a gulp. He picked the photo back up and examined it more carefully. His mother stood amidst the woodsy foliage, between trees and broken limbs. One hand lay on the car’s tyre. The car laid inverted, chassis in the air, nestled between thick trunks and John could see, adrenaline still racing, that death had narrowly skated his mother by.

He thought of her fragile, cancer-ridden bones, how brittle they were. The fall precautions his sister and Danny had set up; hand rails and wheelchairs. He turned back to the letter. Just how “fine” was fine?

He read the letter twice over, and heaved a sigh of relief. Just bruises. Scratched and bruises. No broken bones. She flipped her car into the woods on the side of the road, crawled out, with naught but a scratch. Why the fuck was she even driving? The woman was on unbelievable amount of morphine, to the point where she could hardly hold a single conversation without drifting into another space, and someone let her get behind the wheel of a car?

But it was okay.

She was okay.

Relatively. Still terminal. Still abandoned by his father.

John rubbed his face in his hands, logically relieved, but the fear and adrenaline still shook through him. He needed something to relieve his tremors, his anxiety, his tension.

He needed James.


	9. Radio Silence

Two months.

 

Not a note from his mother.

She didn’t answer the few calls he could afford to make.

 

No answer.

 

He heard bits from Harry.

His dad was back.

But no idea why.

His mother was on new drugs.

But no idea how they were working.

 

More silence.

He wished he were back on the front lines.

Less time to worry.

Less time to notice the silence.

And even less time for his mother.

 

Just silence.


	10. Regret

Johnny,

You may have noticed I dropped off the face of the earth lately. I want to apologize. 

As you all know, everything fell apart out in Greece and your Da is back. 

He is saying and doing everything necessary to get back in my good graces. 

When he was here before, he took care of everything. When he left, I was had it all under control and I was full of self-confidence. But, I am tip toeing on a fine line now, and feel very awkward talking to you. I still have so many questions and mixed feelings, and I don't know how to defend my position on any of this, when I'm not even sure myself.  

I know you love me, and agree with it or not, I feel you will support whatever I choose to do. These are my issues. I love you so much and I don't want you to take any of this personally. I'm just not ready to "go there" yet. 

As for me, I have a PET scan Monday to see if this chemo is working. Disability has cut me off, _and_ sent me a bill to repay February's payment. I guess they thought I had access to your father’s income. He receives $1000 each month for unemployment support, but he hasn't given me a dime. (I know, I know, I deserve whatever I get.) With no income, I am currently using the money you have sent to pay bills, and thankful for it. This will all work itself out, it's just that dealing with the government takes forever!!  

Thank you for your patience.

Love you! 

**PS.**

Received your letter in the mail. 

Thank you so much for your understanding.  

As my illness progresses, I will need more care, and I don't want anyone to disrupt their lives for me. Danny feels trapped and won't leave me. Harry wants to be here, but can't seem to work it out. Your grandfather has his own life (although I believe he will be here at the end) and I do not, under ANY circumstances, want to be put in a home. I'm just trying to do what's best for everyone. 

Right now your Da has quit his pack and a half per day smoking habit, and no longer has contact with his female friend or as I like to call her, the "distraction."   

He came saying and doing all the right things, although things have changed. He is only here out of a sense of obligation, which has turned into resentment. He has not applied for any employment or contacted anyone regarding an outlet for his acting since he has been here. He is receiving some money, but that not helped with any of the bills and nor the food is coming off my card. He pays for petrol (I don't drive anymore) and beer. Lots of beer. 

He has moved into a severe case of depression. He is angry at everything and everyone, and I am directly in the line of fire. He cusses constantly, screams about hating God, bitches non-stop about all the problems everyone else has caused him (nothing, including Brandi has been his fault....he is the victim here). 

I have never been called the c-word so many times in my whole life. 

Don't get me wrong, these are the results of decisions I have made. I take full responsibility for these things. Even decisions made for the right reason can be very wrong. I am working on that.

As for Harry and I being closer, that has everything to do with me. For many years now, when I look back on my life, my biggest regrets have to do with the way I raised you. It is painful for me to see what a wonderful young man you are and know that not only did I have nothing to do with it, but it's only by the Grace of God, you are the wonderful solider and doctor that you are today. 

So many, many mistakes I've made. I wish so much that we were closer, yet every time I talk to you I am overwhelmed by the guilt. It is sad to be so obsessed with the past that I am paralyzed by the future. 

Please know I love you SO much. From the bottom of my heart. I will try to work on things. You mean so much to me. Really. 

I love you,

Mum

 

 


End file.
